


If You're Still Breathing You're The Lucky Ones

by Withstarryeyes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur-centric, Blacking Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fainting, Fever Dreams, Fevers, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Nightmare, Nightmares, Poor Merlin, Protective Arthur
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 09:36:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16238960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Withstarryeyes/pseuds/Withstarryeyes
Summary: But the concern wasn’t the fact that his eyes itched, but what that meant. Ever since Merlin was a child he’d get random fevers at least once or twice a year. They’d stay for a day or two but they always spiked during the night, leaving him delirious and shaking under blankets. He would wake up with itchy eyes, then at midnight he’d have a 105-degree fever and his mother would have to tend to him all night to make sure didn’t die or boil alive.But tonight, Arthur was going on a hunting trip with the knights and Merlin had to tag along to cook and clean and polish armor and his eyes itched.





	If You're Still Breathing You're The Lucky Ones

**Author's Note:**

> This is for Whumptober Day 8: Fever

Merlin’s eyes itched. It was small, he had to admit, and aside from having to paw at his eyelids every few minutes, not that big of a nuisance. But the concern wasn’t the fact that his eyes itched, but what that meant. Ever since Merlin was a child he’d get random fevers at least once or twice a year. They’d stay for a day or two but they always spiked during the night, leaving him delirious and shaking under blankets. He would wake up with itchy eyes, then at midnight he’d have a 105-degree fever and his mother would have to tend to him all night to make sure didn’t die or boil alive. 

But tonight, Arthur was going on a hunting trip with the knights and Merlin had to tag along to cook and clean and polish armor and  _ his eyes itched _ . 

“Arthur?” He tried to broach, hands gently coaxing a hair bristled brush across Arthur’s armor, watching the dirt and blood lather into pink and brown bubbles. 

“Hm?” Arthur hummed, not looking up from his documents, eyes still trained to the page as he turned towards Merlin. 

Water dripped onto his boots in staccato notes, seeping through the thin leather and into his socks as he took in Arthur, his blank eyes and worried lips, his dead-tired eyelashes and the deep-set crinkles around his eyebrows and forehead. He looked exhausted and Merlin couldn’t remember the last time Uther let him go from his responsibilities long enough to even train longer than a few hours, to go exploring or drinking or talking. 

He returned to the armor, swiping the dripping cloth over the metal and letting the noise fill up the space. “How many canteens should I pack for tonight?” he said plainly instead and Arthur rolled his eyes, small whine echoing in his throat. The annoyance sparked something that pushed down the niggling concern starting to bloom in Merlin’s chest and he laughed as he ducked a pen thrown his way with a shout about how he should know how much to bloody pack, he’d been Arthur's servant for several bloody years. 

“Yes,  _ sire _ ,” Merlin answered and made the last word as scandalous and obtuse as he could, even with amusement lighting up his face and eyes. 

By midafternoon he was aching from his feet up and his eyes absolutely burned but he kept moving, packing the saddles on the horses and tieing up the satchels, talking lightheartedly with Lancelot about Gwen and camp, how it was nice to have him back. He watched Arthur ravenously through the corner of his eye, seeing how much lighter he looked already, sword at his side, eyes closed, blonde eyelashes cresting over the tops of his cheeks. 

He leaned into his elbow to cough and sniffled wetly when he was done, seeing fear flicker across Lancelot’s face for a moment. “I’m fine,” he said, waving it all away, “This satchel’s dusty.”

Lancelot knew how to pick his battles and he’d seen the way Merlin’s eyes were tracing Arthur, how he seemed relieved whenever the Prince had a smile grace his face. “Does it you know? Mess with your magic?”

Merlin ducked his head, shaking it slightly. It didn’t, as far as it could tell it was caused by his magic. Sort of a nothing comes for free. He could cast spells but every once in a while he’d end up on the ground burning up from the inside out, fire trying to burst its way through his skin by any means possible. 

It was a long day of hunting and riding and setting up camp and having Merlin fetch this and that. His voice was raspy from quipping at Arthur all day, keeping up with his duties but still pushing back as much as he could. The sunlight was bothering him through, bursting above the hill and radiating directly into their eyes as they traveled just a little further towards the stream to set everything up, it was like an ice pick right into his brain. He winced as he horse rode, dipping and stumbling on the rocks and uneven ground, and he pulled his tunic to wrap around his torso a little closer, dipping his nose into his ascot. He was cold, which was concerning, to say the least, seeing the rest of the group stripped bare of their heavy armor and stuffy jackets. Arthur was just in a white t-shirt and pants, skin dotted with sweat. 

But they were all joking and laughing and having fun and Merlin didn’t want to ruin it, especially as a servant. He had certain privileges others didn’t, particularly in the sleeping with the prince realm, but still, Arthur could be particular about his whining and honestly it was peaceful watching them all be jovial for once. It had been a while since the last time.

“Merlin, when we rest I’ll need you to refill the canteens,” Arthur called over his shoulder and Merlin straightened up, brain fumbling with the words. 

“Sure,” he barely managed before Arthur upped the pace, wanting to set-up before nightfall. Nightfall, Merlin dreaded, was not going to be fun. He was dizzy filling up the canteens, having to stop and rest on the rocks by the river, and Arthur gave him a few long, drawn-out stares when he came back, eyes more worried than the words spewing out of his mouth. 

When the fire had been set up and the knights had split up to set up tents and cook the fish, Arthur pulled Merlin behind a tree, pressing him up against the bark. Merlin, for all that he had tried, was not as good of an actor as he thought. 

“Are you feeling okay?” Arthur asked, eyebrows scrunching back into the stressed position they’d been tethered in the past few weeks. Merlin wrapped a weak hand around Arthur’s bicep, drawing circles there, and Arthur sighed, eyes flickering to the camp to try and scope out who could see them. 

“Serve dinner, alright, then go sleep. You seem off.”

“I’m never off, Arthur,” Merlin replied but his voice was weak at best. He felt dizzy and tired and achy. 

“I’ll be in the tent as soon as I can, okay?” Arthur said, soft and kind and not at all like the boyfriend Merlin knew him to be. He let Merlin go first, waiting long enough to regroup to not look like they were doing anything together. Merlin plated the fish and trout, poured ales for the group, and then ducked into the tent. He pulled the thick wool blanket over his shoulders, shivering pointlessly into the fabric. He was cold but he really knew the fever was building. When he was a kid he used to have fever dreams about dragons and gold and swords. He wondered if now, where all of that is at his fingertips if he’ll dream about home and his mom and being normal. He wonders what it’ll be like. 

The sun’s long gone and Merlin blesses the blissful cool night, darkness a nice press against his eyes. He’s tired, and before Arthur can join him, before he can warn him about his fevers, about the danger, he’s dropping off in the tent, hangs going slack and falling into the dirt beside his head. 

He didn’t dream about magic or dragons or gold, he dreamed of caves and feeling small and seeing a light at the end of the tunnel that never came. He dreamed of losing Arthur again and again and having to sit alone for the rest of eternity, small head resting on his knees, voice hoarse from calling. 

He woke up to Arthur entering in the tent, hands pulling the fabric closed. He looked happy, maybe even a little drunk and Merlin struggled to sit upright, blanket making him stumble and falter in his movements. 

“Are you okay?” Arthur asked when he saw it happen, saw the pale tint to Merlin’s waxy skin and his unfocused eyes. There were two of Arthur and Merlin heaved for breath in the crook of his elbow. He felt sick and drowsy and like he was losing control. 

“What time is it?” Merlin whispered, watching with dizzy eyes Arthur moving to crouch by him. Concern plastering whatever joy had been there previously, Merlin couldn’t follow it, he felt like he was floating away.

“Midnight, why?”

“Ah, that explains it. The fever’s spiking.” Merlin slurred and then passed out, not even noticing the panic to Arthur’s shouts or his fervent shaking of Merlin’s shoulder. 

He woke up a second time in Giaus’ quarters, stripped mostly bare, with Arthur’s head down on his pasty thigh. He felt rough like he’d been dragged through the mud, but his head felt clearer. He tried to get up but Arthur shot up and steadied him with a hand. 

“No, drink,” Merlin gaped as Arthur shoved a gauntlet filled to the brim with crisp water into his hands. 

“Why?”

“God, Merlin…” he trailed off, eyes looking at the window but his fingers still tracing small shapes across Merlin’s skin. “You should’ve told me you were sick, do you know how hard it is to find a new servant in this kingdom that’s halfway competent.”

“Even harder than finding a new boyfriend,” the joke fell flat, bouncing off the harsh line of Arthur’s mouth and the small well of tears brimming his blonde eyelashes. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Arthur admitted but even Merlin knew it wasn’t. Not now, not when a fever like that could kill a whole village, not when Arthur had lost his mom so long ago and not gotten over the pain, not now, not ever. But it’s not like Merlin could be completely honest, couldn’t tell Arthur that he knew he’d be okay because it happened all the time due to his magic. He couldn’t say that just like Arthur couldn’t admit he’d been worried. There’d always be the gaping space between them. 

Merlin yanked on Arthur’s arm until he conceded and moved, pressing his body into Merlin’s side, eyes closed with tears finally shedding. The hole Merlin could never fill but he could fix this, he could fix whatever Arthur was worrying over, and for the time being, for the century being, it had to do. 

It just had to. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!! I hoped you liked this one! I'm still new to writing Merlin so sorry if this isn't fully in character. If you did like it please leave a kudos or a comment, they really make my day. 
> 
> Thanks,   
> C


End file.
